


Pigeon Witches

by Tyranno



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Fae!Tsukishima, Gen, Heather witches!everyone, OH Yeah;, Yam's grandparents, evil wizard!oik, except farmer!yam, half the cast are cats, heather witches are so cool, ok so actually only 4 kids are heather witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-02-21 13:20:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2469710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyranno/pseuds/Tyranno
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing ever changes in the sleepy, slow-moving Karasuno coven. Well, until Hinata tries get a familiar that is. </p><p>Because every fandom needs a country-witches fanfic</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Broom broom I'm riding my broomstick
> 
> I'm going to multichapter this.

Piano notes sweep the room, soft and honeyed, sounding vaguely classical. Everything sways to the gentle tempo, the chandeliers turned and the curtains swayed to the light-footed amble of a tune, staying soft and forgettable.

 

It wasn’t music.

 

Thin, delicate fingers dance in harmony with the piano, notes brightening the airy room in tides. The pale, lacy curtains flew up as the song sped, and the chandeliers wheeled around, bright gems glinting sharply. The melody built up speed, and the pianist’s fingers danced faster and faster, a crescendo of—

 

A sharp shriek of metal split the air.

 

The pianist’s fingers rested patiently on the white keys.

 

The room seemed dimmer, the chandeliers lost momentum and the curtains fluttered back.

 

“I’m surprised, Kageyama.” The pianist said, genuine disappointment noting in his tone.

 

“Don’t be, Oikawa-san. You knew this was coming.” A young man stood, swords raised, unwavering. In one stride, he could skewer the musician, but the man in question didn’t look fazed. Slightly bemused, but not a flicker of worry showed in his soulful brown eyes.

 

The young man scowled, his shoulders hunched. His hair was smooth to the curve of his skull, and jet black, hanging spiky as glass shards around his ears. Behind his ears, though, they stuck out a little for some reason, like a ruff. A little like a cat, the pianist observed, tilting his head. He smiled. how offended the young man would be if he said that aloud.

 

“I am, Prodigy-san.” The pianist turned back to his piano, fingers hanging above keys they were born to play. “A genius like yourself, attacking an enemy when he’s got his whole arsenal? I wouldn’t have pegged you as chivalrous.”

 

The young man’s eyes widen, and he lunges forward to strike, but too late, too late, much too late.

 

A chord sounds, sharp and loud.

 

Swords clatter to the marble floor.

 

 

\----

 

 

The air is so fresh and clean, Daichi almost feels guilty for breathing it. It’s the same feeling as walking on pristine snow. It feels like all the air he’s been using the rest of the year was all muggy and grimy, and with each breath he feels cleaner and more awake.

 

He loves winter.

 

For him it is intermingled with the stamping of old snow-shoes and the warm cradle of pumpkin spice soup. It feels like long afternoons spent tending cattle with heather witch’s spells and the warm crinkle of his father’s smile when he saves a calf from freezing.

 

Daichi glances over his shoulder and into the scruffy hallway, the air remembering his sigh. “Suga?” He asks, peering around a stack of hawthorn Tanaka promised to move a _week_ ago.

 

Something moves in the miscellaneous piles of witchery paraphernalia. A silky grey head surfaces between some holly and some jars of tree sap. “What’s the rush, Daichi? Hinata won’t even be home until tomorrow, and the market’s not even open for another half hour. I need to get these flowers pressed before they wilt.”

 

Daichi frowned. “How will you do that without opposable thumbs?”

 

Sugawara flicked a silky ear non-committed. “I’m magic, aren’t I? I’ll find a way.”

 

Daichi watched as Sugawara didn’t attempt to press the flowers, instead holding them unsteadily between two rough paws and lifting them achingly slowly into a different, larger jar. After a few minutes, Daichi sighed again. “Come on, Suga. I don’t want to get Hinata an unsuitable left-over just because you wanted to make a show of your independence.”

 

“A witch as strong spirited as Hinata could probably have any old thing as his familiar, and anyway,” Sugawara looked up, warm brown eyes sharp with intelligence. “It’s not _my_ fault we’re doing it this late.”

 

“Come on, Suga, at this rate we won’t be doing it at all.” Daichi flatly refused to rise to the bait. So what if he put it off because he was nearly finished with a potion for morning-sickness? It was a time sensitive potion and he’d already made some fertility amulets for the new couple across the river. With any luck they’d need it soon.

 

Suga’s ears twitched, and rose to his paws, curling his tail, the feline version of a shrug. He leapt nimbly over the leaning piles of ingredients, snaking through the narrow path and straight out the door, tail high.

 

Daichi pulled his cloak closer, letting the winter-air lift his spirits.

 

It was a good morning.

 

 

\---

 

 

The market was, if not bustling; at least not as cavernously empty as the rest of town.

 

The market itself was quaint and slow-moving, the same four stalls selling the same things to the same people like clockwork. Their stalls were old and the once-bright paint peeling, but they were well-loved, joints oiled and shelves reinforced. Save Keichi, the fisherman, they were all farmers, selling mainly eggs and milk.

 

“Good morning, Yamaguchi!”

 

The skinny freckled boy almost jumped out of his skin, spinning around wildly. “Oh,” He said, grinning, “Good morning Daichi-san! Oh, and—Good morning Sugawara-san!”

 

Sugawara nodded from inside Daichi’s hood, and went back to licking his paws.

 

“Is there something you’d like? It’s crucif—uh, cabbage and broccoli harvest right now, and squashes, so you can have some of those, and maybe some eggs? I we don’t have many on stall but I can nip back and get some if you’d like.” Yamaguchi picks up some vegetables from the stall.

 

“Can we have some cabbage please?” Daichi smiles, “And while we’re here, you don’t happen to have any stray cats or dogs hanging around your barns you don’t want?”

 

“Looking for a familiar for Hinata, huh?” Yamaguchi smiles knowingly, dropping some of the better cabbages into an old Tesco bag. “No charge, as usual.”

 

“Uh—are you sure?” Daichi takes the cabbage gingerly. “Thank you.”

 

Yamaguchi grins. “Well, we do happen to have some stray—”

 

“You’re looking for stray animals?” A somewhat loud voice interrupts him. It’s almost an theatre voice, loud, confident and commanding.

 

Daichi glances around. A stranger. It’s so rare to meet new people he has to take a few moments to remember what to say. “Yes, I suppose we are.” He says, stiffly, after an age.

 

The stranger is tall, and handsome in an almost stereotypical way. Every feature counterbalances perfectly. His hair curls softly, enough to seem relaxed but not messy, his eyes are sharp and intelligent, but not piercing. His jaw is strong, but still a little boyish, and if Daichi had to guess, he’d say the stranger was his age, or a little younger, a little too young to be on his this far out, but not unfeasible. He even wears a thick, outdoorsy jacket and muddy boots like he was born with them on, even though his un-weathered, fresh face says otherwise.

 

And under his arm was a cat basket.

 

“You’re heather witches, right?” The stranger smiles expectantly.

 

“We are. Are you moving here soon?”

 

“No, I’m passing through. My doctor said it would be good for me to have some fresh air.” The stranger drums his fingers on the basket’s plastic side. “And I found this little critter stowing away in the boot of my car. He’s a beauty, though.”

 

“Can we see?” Daichi takes a step closer. He isn’t really sure why he’s so unnerved by the man, but he is. The stranger has an odd air about him, like an evil mastermind whose plan was being followed even closer than he’d hoped. He shook his head.

 

The stranger lifted the coat from the basket’s top with a flourish, revealing the limp form of a young, jet black cat.

 

“Poor thing, wore himself out while I was chasing him around.” The stranger lamented.

 

Daichi peered through the basket’s mesh top, and tried to study the animal. Its chest rose and fell in slow motion, eyes half-open and tongue lolling out. It had definitely been drugged.

 

Daichi tried to keep the worried from his face, and glanced up at the stranger’s open, kind face. “You don’t want him?”

 

“Oh, you’d be doing me a favour. My apartment back in the city doesn’t allow _animals_.” The stranger smirked, as if sharing a secret joke with himself.

 

“Alright.” Daichi went to open the crates’ door.

 

“No, just take the basket. I bought it especially.” The stranger handed it over, smile waning, and turned to Yamaguchi. “How much are the Broccoli?”

 

Yamaguchi spluttered like a shorting fuse for a few moments, before he caught up with himself. He struggles to remember, the numbers slippery in his surprise, but he finally blurts out; “I—they’re 500 yen each.”

 

“Mm. Pricy.”

 

 

\---

 

 

“DAI—CHI—SAN!”

 

All of a sudden, Daichi was completely surrounded on all fronts by their youngest witch. It was difficult to imagine being completely surrounded on all sides by a skinny little thing of only 162 centimetres, but it happened more than he’d expected.

 

Hinata was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, hair shinning an orange halo in the dim hallway light. It was already nine in the evening, and the day had begun wearing, but Hinata’s excitement knew no boundaries of mere mortals.

 

Daichi hadn’t heard him come in, or his parents’ four-by-four come or go, or his likely spirited and loud goodbyes. He must be more tired that he’d thought.

 

“Good evening, Hinata.” Sugawara said cheerily, flicking his tail.

 

Hinata beamed. “What’re you doing? Pressing flowers? What potion are you two making?”

 

“Hm, I’m sure we’ll find a use for them.” Daichi sat back in his chair and sighed deeply from the bottom of his lungs. He was always tired in winter; that was one downside.

 

Hinata nodded, and padded over to the rest of the leaf-strewn table. “And what’s this?” He patted the side of the cat basket, and peered inside. “A cat!”

 

Daichi smiled, and sat up straight. “Yes, we thought you might be ready for a familiar.”

 

Hinata’s chest swelled and his eyes became so bright Daichi swore they were backlit. He beamed so hard he was almost like car headlights. “Really!”

 

“Yeah,” Daichi smiled tiredly, but genuinely. “Tomorrow, get up fresh and early, say, five-ish? We’ll call Takada, get him to come a day earlier. We’ve already got everything set.”

 

Hinata almost trembled with excitement, and Daichi could see he was holding himself back from sprouting all kind of melodramatic promises. Hinata took a really deep breath, and burst out “I won’t let you down!”

 

Daichi nodded, grinning.

 

 

\---

 

 

The first thought that floated, half-realised, through the frustratingly foggy and murkiness of his mind was; _I am achy_. He pondered this for what seemed an age, floating it around and back and forth through his mind, repeating itself over and over, each time like a mini revelation. He was achy. His joints ached. It didn’t help where he was lying, either.

 

Where was he lying? He didn’t know. What did he know? He was aching. His bones felt like jelly, his muscles felt exhausted and stretched paper-thin and threadbare. His head—oh—don’t get him started on his head.

 

He blinked, or maybe he opened his eyes. He couldn’t really tell. He moved his eyelids in someway.

 

His second thought?

 

_I am a cat._

 

The thought didn’t seem to have impact. It slid from his consciousness like rainwater from an umbrella. It left no trace.

 

_I am a cat._

 

Doesn’t that strike him as odd? A little bit, perhaps. Not enough to worry about, certainly not when he had to deal with how achy he was. He pushed it to the back of his mind.

 

 _I am a cat_.

 

It struck his as odd—why was he so definite? Oh, he remembered the song the pianist was playing. It worries him a little bit, he feels he needs to deal with it as soon as he’s finished with how achy he is.

 

_I am a cat._

 

He scrambles to his feet awkwardly, slamming his back against the top of the crate and rebounding awkwardly, claws not catching on the slippery plastic surface.

 

_I AM A CAT!_

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be introducing the cast real slowly, and maybe not include everyone. I wanna keep some kid's roles as surprises.

Spices heavied the air, sweet and tangy, soaking into Kageyama’s fur as his eyes peeled open.

 

Giants stood around him, holding salts and sugars, and Kageyama would have been afraid, but the Giants had friendly faces and warm eyes like firelight. A smaller giant stood directly in front of him, and he had to crane his neck to catch a glimpse of his face.

 

It was like sunshine, hair warm as the summer sun, and smile bright as a star. He stood, hands cupping some kind of liquid over a basin. It looked like milk.

 

Kageyama’s head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, and he stretched out his spine, pawing at the material he was lying on. Was that... cotton? Everything looked muted, but his nose was sharper, and he could smell pine and wood smoke, earth and sandalwood.

 

He moved slickly, on automatic. He moved towards the smaller giant, whose face lit up with excitement. Perhaps he was a fae. You gave the fae what they wanted; you did not take what they offered.

 

But the boy was offering milk. It smelt fresh, and clean, and his throat was dry, his tongue sandpapery.

 

Kageyama stopped in front of him, eyes slits. His head felt congested, and trying to think something through felt forced, like he was dragging the train of thought through a snowdrift.

 

The boy offered milk, droplets landing on the table. The boy wanted him to drink. He offered.

 

Kageyama was torn, his ears twitching.

 

You gave them what they wanted.

 

He nosed forwards, the spices and incense fogging his brain. He bent his head over the boys’ hands, hands large enough to cup his head completely, and then some.

 

He drank deeply.

 

 

\--

 

 

The ground was hard, and the wind blew straight through the trees, rattling the goat’s shed like a skeleton’s old bones. It was a bitter wind, searing the insides of his nose with every breath he took.

 

Yamaguchi sighed and wrestled the feed from the shelves, chickens trying their hardest to get under his feet. He hefted it under one arm, and bustled back to the peeling red troughs.

 

The sun shone weakly, and he tugged with numb fingers at the corner of the wood. Chickens crowded around at arm’s distance, squawking and scratching.

 

“ **A bitter winter is coming**.” The voice buzzed the air like a plucked string.

 

Yamaguchi didn’t turn around. He knew who it was. He finally managed to open the lid, cradling the feed bag under one arm and letting it empty into the dusty wood. The chickens leapt over each other in a flurry of brown feathers. His toes ached inside his gumboots.

 

He didn’t glance at the half-real figure as he turned around. He kept walking.

 

Yamaguchi’s toes felt like lead in his boots, and he scuffed them on the wet grass, slinging the feed back onto the shelf.

 

He turned around, and his nose brushed warm royal lace.

 

He frowned, and looked up.

 

A half-familiar face loomed above him, amber eyes glinting dully.

 

Yamaguchi took a step back, staring. His back hit the shelf, upsetting some dirty plastic plant pots.

 

He took in the folds and rich curves of a noble’s courtly wear, the deep reds and browns of autumn, the way his long velvet cloak almost faded into the sodden hard ground. The slope of his neck, even the sharpness of his jaw projected something regal and elegant.

 

“ **Must I repeat myself? A bitter winter is coming. I can feel it in my bones.** ”

 

Yamaguchi couldn’t tear his eyes away. His voice was lost, his mind refused to work. “Y-y-you’re a f-fae?” He finally managed, trying to shrink in on himself.

 

“ ** _A bitter winter is coming_.** ” The noble repeated, no inflection of anything crossing his features. His cloak began to disappear, but it didn’t fade. It was more like the grass and earth and roots were reaching up and pulling him downwards by the coattails, and he took a step back. His feet began to slide down, like quicksand, sending ripples of earth outwards.

 

“Wait!” Yamaguchi cried.

 

The fae froze, eyes fixed back onto the boy’s.

 

“If y-you’re a fae, then why are you helping me— _us_?”

 

The fae’s gaze held, icy clear and bright. Nothing moved in its depths. His face was a marble sculpture, perfectly still.

 

And then he was gone.

 

 

\---

 

 

His new familiar was definitely not cute, Hinata decided, peeping over to the seething pile of black rage that sat in the middle of a whirlwind of blankets like the eye of a storm.

 

Sugawara had told him to be prepared for an unfriendly, confused kitty, and yeah, Hinata had been. He’d come up to the black cat with hands outstretched, giving it room to run if it wanted to, and holding fresh fish and water if it was hungry. He’d not exactly expected the cat to launch and all-out assault, coming at him with a definite killing intention. Well, at least injuring intention.

 

He rubbed the stinging thin cuts that littered his face. It was like having a baa-jillion paper-cuts all over his mug. Uncomfortable.

 

Maybe the cat was trying to kill him, ’cuz if looks could kill he’d already be dead. Seriously. Hinata hadn’t seen a cat glare that hard since forever.

 

Hinata refused to break eye-contact however. It was a contest now. He shuffled his blankets around so he could keep a closer eye on the little monster.

 

The black beastie kept his dark eyes fixed on him like a dare. He was silent.

 

That was another thing—couldn’t familiars talk? The mangy cat hadn’t said a word since the ceremony. Had he done it wrong? Was that why the cat was so annoyed at him?

 

“Are you okay?” Hinata asked, suddenly worried. Maybe the cat was really angry, or in pain, ’cuz that might happen if you screwed up a ceremony that important.

 

The cat shot daggers, settling further down in his blankets, retreating.

 

Hinata sat up. “You can come sit with me, if you’re cold.”

 

The cat’s ears flicked, but otherwise it didn’t react.

 

Damn Hinata you’re an idiot! Maybe if he screwed up the ceremony, the cat wouldn’t be able to understand him! That made sense. He threw off the blankets and swung his legs around, a chill spreading up his toes.

 

He froze, remembering what happened last time. “I-I’m not going to hurt you? Don’t hurt me.”

 

He stood up, taking a step towards—

 

“Don’t.”

 

Hinata froze. The cat was half-up, eyes sharp and angry. Hinata stumbled over his words, “Sorry?”

 

“Don’t. Sit back down.” The cat’s mouth definitely moved. His voice was weirdly deep, kind of like Daichi’s.

 

“So you can speak!” Hinata’s heart rose, that meant he hadn’t messed up and hurt anyone. He tried to grin but it just made the pain in his face worse, which put a damper on his mood. He remembered he hadn’t forgiven the dumb cat yet, and sat back onto the sofa.

 

The cat curls back down, burying himself in the blankets again.

 

“So what’s your name?” Hinata asked.

 

The cat said nothing.

 

“I’m Shōyō Hinata,” Hinata prompted.

 

The cat fixed him with a slightly more sarcastic glare. How that was possible was beyond him.

 

Hinata felt like rolling his eyes. Well, the cat only seemed to respond to threats, and he could do threats... “Do you have a name? Maybe I need to give you a name.”

 

The cat began to lick his paw, uninterested.

 

“How about Spot? No, you’re a black cat... hmm... Muffins? Mr. Tiddlewinks.”

 

The cat tried hard to ignore him, but his ears quivered.

 

“Mr. Tiddlewinks fits you perfectly, after all. Or should I say...”

 

The cat stopped mid-lick, eyes awash with fear.

 

“ _Purrrf_ —”

 

“I _have_ a name!”

 

Hinata tried a very small smile, which only twinged a little bit. “Really.”

 

The cat glared, ruff standing on end.

 

“I don’t believe you.”

 

The cat seethed. “Of _course_ I have a name.”

 

Hinata hugged the blankets close to his chest. “Cat’s don’t have names.”

 

“Well I do.” The cat said, sharply, almost, _almost_ saying that he wasn’t actually a cat. But that would be giving the game away.

 

“Even if you do, I bet it’s not a good name. Nothing like _Shōyō Hinata_ , that’s for sure.”

 

The cat snarled. He didn’t know why he was having this conversation with a short, backwater witch who probably couldn’t tell his amulets from his elbows. It was too childish. “Of course it’s not like your name, dumbass.”

 

“What is it then?”

 

Bit obvious, but the cat sighed. He might as well. “Tobio Kageyama.”

 

Hinata stared. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He tries to think of something to—... he grins a wide, shit-eating grin, teeth shinning and barely holding back laughter.

 

The cat—Kageyama—takes offense, fur prickling, eyes darkening like an on-coming storm. “Just _what_ is so _damn_ funny?”

 

Hinata grins. “Tobio... Kageyama... **_Cat_** -eyama...”

 

Kageyama riles, launching straight from the pool of blankets, but Hinata is ready, leaping up and thundering across the living room. The teetering piles of dried leaves and branches seem to be in Kageyama’s path at every turn, and his annoyance and irritation grew every time he had to stop suddenly to avoid upsetting huge piles of tea leaves and—animal bones?!

 

Hinata had no such trouble, weaving in and out of the complex maze, occasionally—annoyingly—slowing until Kageyama managed to catch up. He jumped over some piles and scooted around others at random, until finally, finally he skidded into the orchard, laughing loudly.

 

Kageyama growled evilly, pelting after the young witch, paws barely skimming the ground.

 

“I’ll kill you, dumbass-Hinata.” He promised through gritted teeth.

 

 

\---

 

 

Night in the countryside was a void, like a black hole. The windows were pitch black and freezing, as if the whole house floated in a starless strip of space. It was silent too, and not _city_ -silent. The city was always awake and always bright, even at night the air was filled with the deep rumble of cars, the muffled laughs and arguments of people coming back from boozing, the restless drone of generators. It was the Hum, the Noise of modern life, the whirr of computers that you didn’t even notice until it was gone.

 

And it was definitely gone.

 

The silence was huge, every tiny noise and shuffle magnified to insane heights. It was almost painful and embarrassing to make the slightest sound. It freaked him out.

 

Kageyama blinked, and let out jaw-cracking yawn. He rose gently to four paws, arching his spine, bones cracking. He blinked in the thick shadows, the greyscale gloom reminding him of cheap horror games.

 

Hinata shifted underneath him, almost pitching him off the sofa.

 

Kageyama scowled as much as an animal without eyebrows could, and repositioned him dead-centre of the witches’ chest, tail curling under his paws.

 

Cats were not designed for sleeping nights like people were. Sure, they lay about and lazed pretty much perpetually, but they were semi-nocturnal, and couldn’t clock in the hours the same way.

 

It was a pain. The nights were dark enough that he didn’t really want to go exploring. Not that the crazy murderers on horror films really went for animals, but he wasn’t _really_ an animal. Not that he planned to tell anyone. He had his pride, or what was left of it. Plus, a spell by _Oikwana_ at that close range was very likely perminant.

 

That was the thing about magic; it was irreversible. Even if, say you’d turned your dog blue and you tried a spell to turn him brown, it _could_ work, but more likely it wouldn’t, or, if you were _really_ unlucky, it might turn _you_ brown.

 

The style of magic that came closest to reversing was heather magic. Unlike guild magic, city magic, weather magic or sea magic, heather magic was the root of magic, the wise women and witches who studied the magic in nature and thus the magic in themselves.

 

Kageyama huffed and pulled his legs closer, breathing through the thick fur of his paws. His eyes absently trailed the sharp lines of the charts on the walls, and the odd diagrams that probably represented the theory of the four humours.

 

If only it was that simple, he thought as he closed his eyes. If only heather magic was that _precise_.

 

 

\--

 

 

The Moon Prince’s hand rested gently on the sloping bough of the tree, fingers careful so as to not fall through it. His icy gold-amber eyes followed the line of the baring trees in the distance, their skeletal silhouettes like thorns on the hillside. The ground underneath his plush shoes was unnaturally hard and solid, the ice already holding fort there, threading through the earth.

 

The air tasted sharp and angry, bitter to his tongue, stinging his eyes. Without thinking, his fingers slipped through the bark like a ghost, clenching angrily into a fist. People will die.

 

The sky was the colour of a bruised peach, dripping red onto the sunset like a raw and open wound.

 

A frost rose high on the wind like a promise, like an accusation. People will die.

 

It will be a bitter winter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, what happened to updating weekly? the naruto ending, that's what happened.

It was a clear but cold morning, the chilly air stinging Yamaguchi Senior’s papery cheeks. It had rained hard earlier that morning, and the dark old autumn leaves had become a sludgy slime on the pavement. It hadn’t rained for very long, so they’d managed to wait it out. 

The trees’ boughs arched beautifully over the road, their bare bonelike branches cutting through the brilliantly blue sky like cracks. Most of the birds had already migrated, but the good ole’ faithfuls swooped low over the trees like specks. A squirrel dashed around a branch, pausing suddenly to twitch its ears, before dashing again. 

The Karasuno coven’s ramshackle old cottage was a brisk walk down from the hill, so it hadn’t taken Yamato Yamaguchi much to convince his wife they didn’t have to drive. 

And for whatever reason, his grandson thought he couldn’t put one foot in front of the other. 

Tadashi bounced around his heels like an excited Jack Russell terrier, except with half the good nature. Honestly, Amaya, Yamato’s wife, hadn’t been that worried, and she’d known him since he was a skinny rascal with scabs forever on his knees and elbows. But then, Amaya had known him when he could carry two huge sacks of grain on his back and carry them three miles, and Tadashi only ever knew him as a fat, wrinkly old fart. 

“Oh, shut up Tadashi!” Yamato snapped, after his grandson offered his scarf for the millionth time. 

Tadashi grimaced and fell behind, embarrassed. 

Yamato huffed, and sped up, clearing the cobbled path and making it to the door in record time, despite his aching knees. 

The coven’s door was, much like the rest of it, well-used and weathered, the solid oak knotted, its bottom dented by the kicking feet of ages. It was good, strong, and sturdy, much like the Karasuno witches themselves. 

He knocked. 

There was a muffled thump, hurried steps, and the door was thrown open. 

It was the young lad, skinny and short, with wild orange hair sticking up every-which-way, even more so than usual. He squinted at Yamato. 

Yamato squinted back. 

“G’morning, Yamaguchi-san.” The lad said, flattening against the wall to let him in. 

Yamato grinned, and passed him, his grandson scampering after him. 

A black witches’ cat stares up at them with wide dark eyes, between mounds of dried yew branches. His fur arches dark over his shoulders when he glides to his feet, sharp and clumped like black feathers, head dipping back to slip behind—

The young witch lad scoops him up, holding him close to his chest. He’s grinning. “Are you here for your joint pains?” 

Yamato nods. “If you could make that balm again, that would be great.” 

The lad bobs his head, and bundles the cat into the stacked kitchen, dropping him down on a pile of what looked like gardening magazines. He fixed the cat with a stern look. “You might s’well stay, Kageyama-san. I need your help.” 

The cat suddenly looks attentive, ears swivelling forward. 

The lad—Hinata, Yamato remembered now—grinned, and patted his thighs. “Joints, joints...” He muttered. 

“Poppies are good for pain.” The cat suggested. 

“Only when ingested, and then he could just take pain killers.” Hinata rubbed his chin, squinting. “I remember; Radish, Bishop’s wart, wormwood, crookleek, hollowleek and, and, Helenium. That’s... fi-six! But there are seven ingredients, I’m sure.” The lad’s forehead wrinkled, and he looked practically constipated. 

“Um, it’s a place to start, at least, lad.” Yamato said hopefully. 

“Yeah, I—Garlic!” He exclaimed. “Garlic, I forgot garlic. That’s seven, yeah. Could you start collecting them, Kageyama? Garlic and Radish’s here on the veggie rack, and I’ll drag the pestle and mortar down.” 

Kageyama leapt neatly off the table, and disappeared around the corner in an instant. 

Hinata hefted an ugly green pestle and mortar and set it on the table with a heavy thud, and fetched a pan. By the time he was done, Kageyama had returned with Bishop’s wort, and had gone off to find wormwood. 

Once all the ingredients of stage one were collected, Hinata mashed it all up in equal parts and dropped as much of the soggy mess as he could into the pan, with some butter, celandine and red nettle, trying to keep it on the boil. 

“So,” Tadashi said, “You finally got a familiar, Shōyō-san.” 

“Yeah.” Hinata graced him with a blinding grin. “He’s alright. Bit grumpy though.” 

Kageyama looked mildly affronted, although nobody saw. 

“Hmph,” Tadashi snorted, “I guess we’ll have to find another way to get rid of all the strays then.” 

Hinata frowned. “He’s wasn’t one of yours?” 

“No, it was kind of weird really. A handsome city fella was carrying him around the market for ages in his basket, trying to pawn him. It was weird.” Tadashi shook his head. 

“Do you know anything about that guy, Kageyama?” Hinata peered around the table legs, trying to catch his wily familiar’s expression. 

Kageyama opening his mouth, closed it, and then quickly said, “No.” 

“Were you hidin’ in his garage or something?” Hinata turned back to the stewing ointment. 

“I—No, I’ve never seen any—any city fellow.” Kageyama said, in chunks. 

“So you’re a country cat at heart then?” Hinata asked. 

“I suppose.” Kageyama flattened his ears, he tried changing the subject. “Is there any fish in the fridge, I’m kind of hungry.” Cats ate fish, right? That wasn’t just in cartoons. But they were supposed to drink milk, even though they were lactose intolerant. 

Hinata didn’t seem to notice the abrupt change, and smiled again, “Sure, I’ll just—”

“No, it’s okay, I’ll do it,” Tadashi leapt to his feet, ever eager not to impose. He fished out a plate from under some turnips, brushing off most of the dirt, and slapping a cold fish onto the middle. He put the plate down quickly and rushed back to his seat. 

Kageyama nosed his way towards it, unsure. 

He hadn’t been lying, when he’d said he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten for at least a day and a half. And all he’d had before challenging Oikwana was a tuna sandwich and some coffee. 

But when he saw the fish, his stomach flipped, partially from nerves. 

The fish stared up at him with wet, dead eyes. It was floppy and smelt fresh, a chilled scaly corpse. He sniffed it hesitantly. Man, it smelt heavenly. 

His mouth watered, and hunger riled up, gnawing feverishly at his stomach. He edged closer, and picked at the scales with his teeth. It took a while for him to scrape off enough scales to actually see a good piece of the flesh under the blood, but that, at least, looked good. 

Kageyama nibbled a corner of it. 

It tasted good, so he took a larger bite. He chugged down a good half of it before he had to stop for a moment because the fish’s eyeballs were freaking him out. 

The fish’s expression was accusing, deep, glassy pale eyes with wide pupils seemed to follow him. It unsettled him. He padded at the cold kitchen tiles. 

“What, you don’t like it?” Hinata asked, peering down at him. “Sugawara-san’s usually finished by now.” 

Kageyama raised his front paws in a awkward shrug. He shook himself. Get a grip, Kageyama. It’s a goddamn fish. He forced himself to eat the rest of it, snapping up the cold meat and choking on the bones. It was cold, far too cold for his liking now he’d taken the edge off his hunger, and slippery. 

“I’m done.” Hinata squatted down, sitting on his heels to show Kageyama what it looked like. “See that nice red colour. It means it’s done.” Hinata nodded sagely. 

Kageyama tried to record the colour and texture, peering at the lumpy mass. “Yeah.” He said, eventually. 

“Alright, Yamaguchi-san—eh, Yamaguchi-sans—I’ll put this in a lunchbox. If your joints start to hurt, strain it and apply it directly to your, eh, joints. Do you need any fabrics to strain with?” Hinata sounded weirdly professional, fetching a plastic box from the overflowing under stairs cupboard. 

Yamato shook his head slowly. “No, I have some old curtains I can use. Say hello to that young fellow with the short hair for me.” 

Hinata grinned. 

 

\--

 

The storm hit the hills like a hammer, covering everything in a thick, sticky snow about half a metre thick. The sharp hills and trees were reduced to vague pale shapes; farmers who wanted to shovel snow first had to shovel their front doors open. The air stung like salt on their skin while they did it, sting like pins and needles in their throats, like the very moisture in the air had formed icicles. 

It was one of the worst snowstorms in decades, and it was barely December. 

There had been no warning either; it rarely went from being warm enough to rain to snowing just overnight. It was a bad omen, a very bad one. 

No warning for anyone, except Yamaguchi. 

He looked out from his window, the icy glass remembering his breaths. 

His family were agriculture farmers, not livestock ones. The only livestock they had were two dozen chickens, and an old cow, both of which didn’t seem to mind the snow much. He hadn’t mentioned the fae’s words. 

Yamaguchi felt like part of his stomach had rotted away. Guilt kept him frozen in place, like ice against the glass. 

He hadn’t mentioned the fae’s words, but not because the plants were safe. They weren’t. The snow would melt and the ground would be a sodden, swampy mess of rotten crops. 

He hadn’t mentioned them, because part of him wanted them to be true. He didn’t want to inherit the farm. He’d never wanted to inherit the farm. Every time it crossed his mind that he’d spend the rest of his life as a worn out, lonely farmer, his stomach pitched and he buried the thought immediately. 

He was so far away from, from—... from somewhere. 

Yamaguchi’s stomach felt repulsed from every tree and crop. He didn’t belong here. His heart was restless, keeping him awake and alert but making every move a labour, his heart seemed to be connected to somewhere else, tugging and tugging and tugging, and maybe if he moved too fast he’d tear it out entirely. 

His nose brushed the window; ice had formed on both sides of the glass. He stared unseeing at the endless mounds of sugar-like snow covering every feature as it stretched on and on to the horizon. 

Yamaguchi felt it rise in him, a surge of something familiar but unnameable. 

He remembered. 

The sea. 

He misses the sea, a deep, aching long for it, deep in his bones. It’s an old wound, one he doesn’t remember getting, but it aches and aches like a sore joint. It flares up, fiery and determined, at the most sudden of moments. Like when he’s answering a question in school, his hand paused, mid-sentence, the chalk still and forgotten in his hand. Like when he’s talking to his friends, his soft voice guttering out.

Like then. 

He missed the sea more than anything else. It’s the strongest thing he feels these days, a deep, deep desire, curling raw and wild in his stomach. 

He yearned, not for the seaside beaches and ice creams, but the vast uncontrollable rock of the ocean. 

His heart burnt for the salty air, the shouts and gruff laughs of the fishermen perched unsteadily on the metal hulls. He needs the silent depths, filled rich with dangers and opportunities, the dark twilight blue hiding all demons. He wishes and wishes in sleepless nights to be whisked away by Neptune’s soft hands, to be drowned by the roll of his ruthless waves. 

But in the aftermath, when his words had guttered back into life, and his chalk began to stiffly move again, he’d stare into the distance, completely thrown, the restless energy dispelled. 

He’d realize then, in the fallout, what worried him bone-deep. 

He’d never been to the sea.


	4. Chapter 4

Yamato’s grandchild was not in his bed. 

Yamato stood in the doorway, his shadow falling over the empty bed, and the open window. The air was searing-cold, sucking the heat right from his bones. Tadashi’s sheets were twisted and mangled, his chair tipped over and his stack of books upset in a feverish dash from the window. 

Yamato had heard the bone-splitting crash from the kitchen, and could see the pockmarked snow where his grandson had scrambled for the trees. 

He’d been warned, by Tadashi’s own mother, as she bundled the child in and old sack, not to let him eat fish or too much salt. Warned him not to let him near water, even snow, even ice. 

It would be pointless to rush after him. The wind was undoing the tracks, picking his presence apart at the scenes. Tadashi would need more than one old man and his wife to save him now. 

*

Harsh, sharp noises cut through the air like a knife, hacking at Daichi’s soft dreams and hurting his eardrums. His eyes stuck together as he struggled to open them, blinking and blinking, trying to see anything in the murky shadows of his room. He struggled to lift his arms, blankets upon blankets peeling off him. 

The phone was ringing. 

It was bewildering. The phone never rang. Even when Hu’s girl had broken her leg a year ago or Kenji had that terrible fever two months back; there was always a hurried thump at the door or a tugged arm whilst out shopping. 

He’d almost forgotten they had a phone. 

He’d definitely forgotten where it was. 

 

*

 

The road was impassable, heavy, thick cloaks of snow heaped over the stones and hedges. It was hard to see the road, let alone pick his way through. A skeletal tree shed its ice with a wet thump. 

Yamato pushed his legs forward, breathing heavily. His breath came out in wispy clouds like dragon’s smoke, and every breath roasted his lungs. His joints seem to rub angrily against each other like rusty gears, chipping and scratching against one another. 

It was hard, but with his wife beside him he moved like a machine. 

It had started snowing again, flecks of white caught in Amaya’s mottled grey hair, catching on her pale eye lashes. She was thin and wiry, even when bundled into a winter coat and thick boots, but she was strong, like the lioness she had been when she was younger. Even though her face was wrinkled, like a flattened out crushed paper bag, crow’s feet as deep as scars, her eyes were stony and determined. 

She took Yamato’s hand in hers. Her grip was iron. 

“He’ll be fine. Tadashi is a strong boy.” 

It was more like a promise than a statement of fact. 

 

*

 

Daichi nudged Sugawara awake with his toe and rushed barefoot across the bone-chilling floorboards. The phone seemed to be getting louder as he bounded down the stairs and narrowly missed a bunch of old boxes of green tea. 

“Yeah? Wow, ok.” Hinata said, worry straining at his voice. He’d beaten Daichi to it, and his face was scrunched up in worry and confusion, bright orange eyes totally helpless. “Yeah, yeah, ah—here’s Daichi now.” 

He pushed the phone into his hands and bounded upstairs. 

Daichi put the phone to his ear, and crept into the kitchen. 

“Daichi-san?” He recognizes Totora’s voice, although it’s a lot more stressed than he’s heard in years, “There’s snow everywhere it’s—look, it’s not natural, please, c’mon the sheep—the sheep an’ tha lambs’re under it, we’re trying but we can’t possibly move—” There’s a scuff of something and a harsh cough, “—can you help, Daichi-san? Please.” 

“Of course, we’ll be there in a minute.” 

 

*

 

The Karasuno’s witches’ coven’s house was familiar as the sky itself, and it was only under deep snow that it looked different. It seemed to be straining, and old, the timbers bending and twisting with age. Instead of the warm familiarity of the ole’ faithful place, it looked weak and fragile; the loving dents were scars under snow, the windows chipped and murky. 

It looked deserted. 

Yamato thumped on the door again, but his heart felt drained. It was like the chill of the sudden winter had finally sunk to his core. But something else curled deep within his worn body, something eager and angry. 

Guilt. He took a step back, eyes unseeing. Guilt stirred up dust inside his stomach, a coiling snake that turned and turned inside his belly, prickling unbearably in his chest, aching and aching. 

Yamato glanced at his wife, and stopped short. 

Amaya’s hard eyes glared back at him. 

Amaya stood like a marble statue, before turning smoothly back towards the way they’d come. Her boots crunched heavily. “Come on.” She said. 

Yamato took a step, but his foot seemed frozen. He haltered, wavering in the icy winds. 

“You’re forgetting,” Amaya said, not slowing down or speaking up, “I was a witch, back in my time. Tadashi is a strong child. We’re no use to him out here.” 

Yamato stared, and then, slowly, gears churning, began to move after her. 

 

*

 

Hinata bounced up and down inside his boots as he walked, trying to wriggle in some warmth. His toes seemed to freeze together with cold, and he wiggled them loose as best he could. 

“Oi, dumbass-Hinata!” A muffled voice came from inside Hinata’s coat, before a bluish black head surfaced. “Stop jumping around! You’re making me seasick!” 

Hinata huffed, and glared down at him. “If you don’t like it, get out!” 

Kageyama growled, and shuffled about inside the coat. 

“Hinata, please keep up!” Daichi called. 

Hinata nodded and bounded after them, cradling the cat-sized lump in his winter coat. “S-sorry Daichi-san!” 

Daichi scrubbed a hand through his hair. They couldn’t really use a truck—unless someone had a monster truck spare. He felt Sugawara shift inside his hood. This was bad. 

“Daichi-san, do you know any spells or...?” Hinata asked nervously. 

Daichi stared out at the soft landscape. He didn’t. Heather magic didn’t work like that. It didn’t really have spells. Ennoshita had tried his hardest to explain it to him, before leaving for the south, and he wished, wished, he’d researched it more, learned more, tried harder. He’d said Heather magic didn’t have spells, it had chances. It had opportunities and a balanced coin’s edge. 

Heather magic was baring your soul to the spirit of nature and pouring yourself in to tip the scales. 

Daichi sighed, and frowned. He didn’t understand it, not in practice or principle. It sounded far too fanciful and mystical to be useful, like those cheating guild witches and their fancy cloaks—all show and splendour. 

Right now, he needed something real, he needed something as solid and as deadly as the snow that dragged their feet. 

He looked at Hinata, and softened his frown, brightened his eyes and smiled. He patted Hinata’s cold shoulder as firmly as he could. 

“Yeah. I know a bunch.” 

 

*

 

Yamaguchi Tadashi was running. 

Every step tried to drag him back, snow pushing his shins and pummelling his arms. But Yamaguchi pushed through, dragging himself forward. 

He had to leave, he needed to run. 

It was a need so deeply rooted in his core when it flared bright it had branded his insides. It tugged him like a marionette, tugging him and tugging him forward, forward. 

His sense and mind had been lost to the cold than had taken the feeling from his feet and legs and arms. Yamaguchi vaguely felt his feet rubbing raw against the ice, but it registered as a dim sliver across a blank conscience. 

He moved on. 

Yamaguchi had run for about half a mile or so, but now he moved sluggishly, even as the need to move burned brighter in the wet snowmelt. 

He pushed off the top of the mound, and tumbled down into the smooth dip of someone’s field. His field, it registered briefly. 

The thought of people made his guts squirm. 

He rose to his feet, as if yanked upwards. He glared at the pale horizon. 

Yamaguchi took a few steps, legs unwieldy with cold. 

Something crashed in the undergrowth in the distance, and Yamaguchi’s fire roared in fear. 

He broke, stumbling, into a run. 

 

*

 

The Yamaguchi basement was a squat, square, grey room with freezing stone on every direction, and forever shrouded in pitch blackness. Yamato’s footsteps resounded sharply against the stone. The sway of his lantern cast everything in brilliant white, the cardboard boxes bleached of their dull colours in the glow. 

He moved purposefully, his destination memorized by years of worried thinking. 

The bookshelf stood where it always did, crowded with silver spider webs. 

Yamato shoved it aside with a grunt, and reached for the dusty wooden box caught behind it. 

The beautifully swirled shining wood caught the lantern’s glare almost blindingly. It’s half as big as him, cumbersome and the sides cut sharp-edges. 

Yamato’s hands shake as he carried it carefully up the cut stone stairs and laid it gently on the hallway table. 

Amaya pressed a warm hand to his shoulder, but still his hands shiver and he takes the key from around his neck and slowly, slowly... 

Slides it into the lock. 

The soft wood of the box opens, the hinges still soundless and well-made. The cushioned front opens, baring the precious cargo. 

An animal hides’, short, coarse fur dark grey and with sparse flecks of pure white. Waterproof grease makes the fur shine bright in the lantern light, almost glow. The fur is warm too, even after all of these years, like touching the animal itself. It is still alive, its fur moves like silk, even as the grease dries and cracks from years of neglect, even as the magic weakens. 

It’s a seal’s hide. 

His grandson’s. 

 

*

 

The entire lamb’s field was covered with snow. 

Daichi hadn’t expected too, but he could feel them. He could feel the lamb’s... auras? He could feel them like little hotspots of life in a now frozen and dauntless landscape. Every one. 

He trudged forward, Hinata close at his heels. 

Daichi pressed his hands into the snow, and was overtaken with his own inadequacy. He didn’t let it show, not a flicker or a sign, but his heart plummeted. 

He couldn’t do this! The first time he’s needed; really needed, and not just as a free pharmacy, he’s just guessing. He’s a cheat, and a liar. Witch? Never. Witches know what they’re doing, witches are strong and reliable and knowledgeable. 

No potion could save them now. That was all he ever did, all he had ever done was simple cures and simple balms. It was all he was cut out for. Worry ground deep inside his stomach, gnawing at his insides. 

“Hey, Daichi,” Sugawara says. His voice is like soft caramel, and Daichi opens his eyes. 

The cat’s eyes are strong, and more real than most human’s. Sugawara is a rock, a giant with small stature. “Daichi, you can do this. We can do this.” 

Daichi scrubs behind Sugawara’s ears. “Ok. I can do this.” 

“That’s good because I was super worried you had no idea.” Hinata laughed nervously, and then yelped. “Oi, Kageyama don’t bite me!” 

“Don’t be rude to your master, Dumbass-Hinata!” Kageyama grumbled from inside his coat. 

“I’m not that obvious am I?” Daichi frowned, straightening up. 

“To us.” Sugawara shivered. “Come on, let’s do this quick. Pick me up again.” 

Daichi bundled him back in his coat, the cold Furball heavy against his chest. “Ok. I think I know what to do.” He took a deep breath. “Push your warmth into the snow, with all your might. It’s the only way.” 

“Our ‘warmth’?” Kageyama asked, ears tall above the fur-lined collar. 

“Your warmth. Your summers. Your heat and happiness’s. Your strength.” Daichi walked to the other end of the field’s entrance. 

Daichi rooted himself to the earth, and pushed his heat down. 

It was slippery, and kept escaping his grip, skimming through his fingers like bubbles. He clenched his fists and shoved his heat down. He caught Hinata’s grin when he saw his new familiar, caught the kid’s laughter and insatiable grin. 

He took a step, not onto snow, but onto sodden earth. 

He caught more, long hot summers with a lazy grey cat strewn across his chest, dripping ice lollies and volleyball games. He caught birthdays with lopsided candles and soft may afternoons. He caught hot cocoa evenings after herding sheep on the mountains with the old collies. 

He took step after step, walking steadily. 

The ice tugged now, dragging thing from him without persuasion. It sucked hungrily, catching bright winter mornings under heavy blankets, dragged Christmases he didn’t remember with the soft smell of nutmeg. It pulled out the smiles of happy customers, the bright grin of Hu’s girl skipping with her healed painless leg. It snagged Kenji’s weary smile after waking from a three week fever. 

Daichi was jogging now, and his ribs felt ready to cave in on themselves, bones bending under the hunger of the ice. The ice was taking and taking, tearing the flesh from his bones. 

The ice pulled at Noya’s tipsy grin, and with it, a cascade of memories of when it was still the team of them, Asahi’s nervous laughter and Tanaka’s boisterous sense of humour. The ice pawed at it, dragging up memories and shifting through them with its massive bulk. It was taking too much, leaving him—

Teeth sunk into his shoulder, and his eyes flew open. He sunk to his knees, gasping. Sugawara curled out from his chest, licking his nose carefully. 

“You ok, Daichi?” Sugawara fell back on his hind legs, sitting on his tail. 

Daichi panted breathlessly, and struggled to look back at Hinata. 

Hinata was squat a few feet ahead of him, having a tired yet still somehow energetic argument with the black cat on his lap. He looked fine. 

Daichi sighed, and sat back on his heels, trying to regain his breath. It took him a good few minutes to do it, but he eventually regained enough air to speak. “Y-yeah I’m fine. Thanks Suga.” 

“Anytime,” Sugawara rubbed against Daichi’s shaking arms. “The lambs are mostly ok. Some died, but that’s the way. Oh—and you might wanna get some shots for that bite.” 

Daichi huffed out a laugh. 

 

*

 

Yamaguchi slipped, and suddenly he was weightless. He felt his heart judder, and his useless limbs flail. 

And then he was falling. 

He crashed against the snow, rebounding up and then tumbling. He couldn’t see, the earth pitched and tipped around him, blurring into a freezing cyclone. His arm hit something hard and rough and was thrown back, pain lancing up his arm like knives. 

Yamaguchi was tumbling, the world spinning together in a terrible blur. His heart pounded and jumped in his chest, his limbs span and span. 

Impact. 

The snow deadened the world, and stillness wasn’t as different as movement. His head still span, nausea threatened to throw whatever food he still had. 

He shifted, and snow crumbled under his arms. 

Yamaguchi groaned, and it seemed to take all of his effort. 

He shifted again, bleary eyes blinking weakly at the sky. He coughed, and it seemed to injure every rib. 

The moon prince stood above him, blonde hair glowing like a short-spiked crown. His amber eyes shone brightly, like little circles of stained glass. 

The moon prince knelt, and crossed his legs beside him. The soft velvet of his cloak shrouded his sides, and she seemed to melt into the snow, on the edge of translucence. He saw glasses, resting on the bridge of a sharp nose in a proud face; but a face that was not unkind. Merely aloof. 

Yamaguchi coughed at him, blinking feebly. A fae. The deep rooted thought of dangerous faes didn’t even flicker in his dulled mind, only that he hoped they didn’t try to bring him home. He couldn’t go home. Not when he was this close. 

He could hear water lapping, the deep crash of waves like the roll of heavy drums in his ears; he didn’t know if he was really hearing anything at all. 

“You are Yamaguchi Tadashi.” The moon prince said softly, even kindly. 

Yamaguchi couldn’t move. The fire in his bones might rage and rage but his body was lead and stone now. 

“I am Tsukishima Kei.” 

He blinked dumbly. 

“You are very far from home, aren’t you, little Selkie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo ok folklore time  
> Selkies are like... were-seals. They sorta chill in human form on rocks and stuff being beautiful and sea-like, and to become a seal they throw their seal skins onto their backs and voila. There are a bunch of stories about a man falling in love with a selkie and stealing her seal skin so she can't return to the sea, but eventually he either gives it back or she either dies or drowns herself, cursing the man to have terrible luck at sea.  
> Also!! I swapped tenses a bit in the last few paragraphs of the last chapter, so I'm going back to change that now. Sorry to anyone who got confused!


	5. Chapter 5

   
The sun scattered cold light through the trees, blushing the freezing landscape a warm pinkly-orange. It glowed against the crumpled pyjama shirt and smooth skin of the lanky teenager; skin that was as smooth and cold as marble. If it weren’t for the hesitant rise and fall of the boy’s chest, he could have been a particularly disturbing statue, maybe an artist’s tribute to young boys lost to the snow. 

The figure who sat near him was even more eerie. He was dressed in clothes that sung of old wealth, draped in velvet and little buttons polished to shine. The sun shone uninterrupted straight through him, leaving no mark or highlight. He cast no shadow. Only his glasses really glinted, careful amber eyes only visible when he turned his head. 

The boy’s eyes opened, bleary and gummy. His hands and feet felt dead and wooden, and what he could feel was covered in pins and needles that set his teeth on edge. 

He breathed evenly, and with an effort, showed himself on his back. 

“Good morning.” Tsukishima said flatly, a slight smile touching his graceful features. 

Yamaguchi stared. A fae? A fae? He recognised the face; he remembered a warning from him, but his brain felt mushy and useless. 

“If you remember, I am Tsukishima Kei. I am a moon prince.” He spoke slowly without slants or carelessness. Tsukishima spoke clearly, and crisply, like if a dictionary could speak. 

Yamaguchi’s breath coasted through his teeth. “yo-y-y... a-a, I-I-I,” he said, helpfully. 

“You are a Selkie. That is how you survived the night.” 

Yamaguchi tried to jerk upright, but his head pitched forward and made him nauseas. He fell back with a thump. 

“I-...” Yamaguchi’s voice died. 

“We ought to head back.” Tsukishima held a hand out. 

Yamaguchi blinked it, and after a few tries he managed to raise and arm, and grasp it firmly. 

He felt flesh—real flesh—warm and solid, and live fingers that curled around his stiff palm. His own were numb and wooden, it was almost like—and Yamaguchi shuddered at this—it was almost like he was the Fae. 

The Fae pulled him up, catching him as his legs kicked uselessly, and propelling him firmly across the frozen land. 

Yamaguchi’s legs refused to move, joints locking and muscles stinging. 

As he crashed to his knees for what must have been the millionth time, Tsukishima looped his arms around his shoulders and under his knees and pulled him against his chest. 

Yamaguchi’s brain was half-dead, moving like slushy snow, thoughts crushed, and so he simply lay back in his arms... 

And relaxed. 

 

*

 

Daichi rubbed his back, rolling his shoulder slowly under his hand, feeling the almost comforting discomfort of the new wound. It was dim now; the few lamps casting soft shells of light against the polished wood, the long shadows were softened and blurred across the crowded floor. 

“It’ll scar,” Sugawara said almost to himself. 

Daichi’s mind came back into focus slowly. “Mmm.” He said, after a long time. 

He hadn’t realised Sugawara was awake, the soft curve of fur visible in the yellow light stilled at least half an hour ago. Sugawara’s sleepy eyes barely caught the light, quiet depths unreadable. 

Sugawara meant so much to him. It was almost comical, the last Karasuno Witch and his grey witch’s cat, keeping going doggedly long after Nishinoya had fled to the city with Asahi and Ennoshita had lingered one June morning with a desperate look in his eyes, muttering something he hadn’t figured out until weeks after. Even Hinata, one of Nishinoya’s rescue operations, became almost an afterthought. 

Sugawara was a rock, a steady constant, not as young as he was but not yet old either. The fact that he was a cat, and cleverer than him at times probably said told a lot about both of them. 

Daichi sighed, and went back to rubbing his shoulder. 

 

*

 

Yamato’s head jerked up as the door banged open; the winter wind rolling through the building chilled his bones. He blinked in the glare of the snow, the two figures polarised in against his eyelids. He squinted, scrubbing at his forehead, furrowing his brow. 

“Tadashi...?”

 

*

 

It was January. 

Spring was just coming back into the world, rising from an uneasy slumber like a teenager on Mondays, shaking off the blankets of snow a little wistfully. 

The world was a miserable cold grey, but it was getting a little colour back in it, even if the colour was slushy brown. The trees hadn’t yet gotten leaves and had shed their snow into sticky puddles, the branches damp and slippery, much like the roads. 

Hinata kneeled on his suitcase, bending over backwards to zip it up, fingers stiff. 

He glanced around his room for the millionth time, trying to figure out if there was anything he was missing and finding nothing, which was kind of unsettling because there was always something. Daichi-san always phoned about a week later with a game or an important school textbook or a shirt or a shoe shoved down the back of a sofa chair or stashed behind a bookcase. 

But no; as weird as it looked, the floor lay empty of everything but dust, the bed laid neatly and the dresser open and bared. Even clothes hangers were neatly put back on the rail and not strewn across the floor like normal. 

Hinata shook his head and turned, bare feet sticking to the floor. 

It wasn’t his room anymore, and wouldn’t be for another full term. The weeks stretched ahead of him, over the horizon and into the distant, distant future. It was so long until the next holiday—he’d surely be an old man by then. 

It had been so easy before he was in high school. He’d lived with his Mum and step-dad, a happy routine-driven pair of the normalist people ever, making the same jokes and telling the same stories on repeat years on end. He’d spent more time at the coven than pretty much anywhere else, petting Ukai jr’s huge black floppy dog (who always had an apologetic look on his dopy canine face). 

But then he’d moved to a rough seaside town, and every year his mother’s agreement to drive him all the way back got more and more reluctant. Even his step-dad, who had magic blood in him, he’d always said, started suggesting he should focus on his school work and stay a little closer to home. 

Hinata sighed and flipped his case up, hoisting it onto his hip. 

He thumped down the stairs, avoiding the familiar piles of twigs, and setting the case down heavily on the hallway floor. 

“Kageyama? You around?” He called. 

A silky thing leapt from the book case in the study. “I was waiting for you. You took ages.” 

Hinata laughed. “Well you don’t have anything to pack, you’re a cat!” 

Kageyama nodded jerkily. “Yamaguchi-san’s outside.” 

“Ok, thanks. C’mon.” 

Kageyama trotted dutifully behind him, tail high. 

“Bye Daichi-san!” Hinata called over his shoulder. 

“Bye!” He heard back. 

Outside, the trees’ bending branches swooped low, twigs shaking like jazz-hands. Yamaguchi stood awkwardly on the porch, case half-raised beside him. He fidgeted on his feet, casting nervous glances around. 

“I don’t know how you could leave this place,” Hinata said, grinning. “Don’t worry though, Nekowana’s pretty cool.” 

Hinata dropped the case heavily in the boot of the car. “Do you need help with yours?” 

Yamaguchi turned, eyes unfocused and directed over Hinata’s head somewhere. He moved slowly, as if lagged. “Mm.” He said, swallowing. 

Yamaguchi moved on his own, but as if propelled, arms moving in slow-motion, sliding not dropping the case next to Hinata’s. He stood like that, hand rested carefully on the handle of the bag, fingers half-uncurled, for a long moment. He stood still, staring but not looking at the brown bag in front of him. 

And then he cracked a grin, nervous and unsure as always, freckles crinkling and eyes half-closing. 

He turned to Hinata, lip wobbling. 

“I’ve been wanting to leave for quite a long time now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END  
> ... or is it?  
> Look a 10k story! Yep, they weren't just a myth.  
> 


End file.
